


Entreat me not to leave you

by dezemberzarin



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stupid plane,” Mario grumbles and Marco shushes him absently, like he’s done every time Mario has uttered the same words in the past hour. </p><p>Mario frowns, not so easily deterred. “This is ridiculous. Who thought of this travelling schedule? I’m going to tear Volker a new one when I talk to him the next time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entreat me not to leave you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/gifts).



> This is all Reina's fault. I don't even know what I'm doing, except I'm apparently writing Götzeus getting married now?! Again, I blame Reina.

Airports in general, Mario thinks, aren’t a place anyone likes to spend a lot of time at. Which is ironic, because all there is to do at an airport is wait to get carted from one place to another, with very little entertainment and seating that leaves a lot to be desired. Even the VIP Lounge at Dortmund Airport, which right now is completely deserted except for him and Marco, only has these armchairs that make it absolutely impossible to lie down. For someone who roughly spent only two of the last forty-eight hours asleep, this is a rather unfortunate situation.

He tries slumping towards Marco’s chair, angling his body so he can tuck his head into the curve of his shoulder. Marco smells like sunscreen and alcohol, despite the shower they both took before departing from Berlin a few hours ago. It’s coming out of his pores and Mario would be more turned off by that, he really would, but then again, how often do you win a World Cup really? 

Well, two times in Mario’s case, but this was Marco’s first and they did it together this time around, scoring, winning and lifting the cup all in one glorious Moscow night. Mario smiles against Marco’s shoulder as he thinks of the last two days, the celebration that stretched from the pitch in Moscow to the Brandenburger Tor without any real respite, even on the plane. The two of them barely had time to sneak off and celebrate in their own fashion until this morning, Marco stripping him out of the shirt that already sported five stars and pushing him onto the hotel bed to fuck him with his own clothes unshed, merely his fly undone as he pushed into Mario. 

“What are you doing?” Marco’s voice is hoarse, as is Mario’s. Whether from drinking, joining into all the stupid songs Thomas made them sing during the last two days or lack of sleep is really anyone’s guess. 

“I’m trying to rest,” he mumbles, words muffled by Marco’s shirt. 

“Cut it out, Sunny,” Marco murmurs, though he makes to move to actually dislodge Mario from his shoulder. “What if someone sees?” 

“There’s no one here,” Mario points out grumpily. “And even if there was, it’s not like I’m sucking your dick. I doubt anyone would even recognize us like this.” 

“It’s Dortmund,” Marco replies, like that’s an answer. But he still doesn’t push Mario away, probably realizing that there’s very little chance of anyone seeing them here. The VIP Lounge has been abandoned ever since they got here an hour ago and their flight isn’t leaving for another three hours, the plane delayed for now. 

“Stupid plane,” Mario grumbles and Marco shushes him absently, like he’s done every time Mario has uttered the same words in the past hour. 

Mario frowns, not so easily deterred. “This is ridiculous. Who thought of this travelling schedule? I’m going to tear Volker a new one when I talk to him the next time.”

“Think happy thoughts, Sunny.” Marco sounds vaguely sick and Mario presses a kiss to his shoulder, knowing Marco’s hangovers are usually a lot worse than his. By now, his boyfriend probably has a splitting headache. Maybe they should have just kept drinking. But they both wanted to have sex and doing that while full on smashed was hardly ever a good idea and just plain impossible since they’d gotten older. 

“You want to look at the pictures again?” Marco asks and Mario straightens, the prospect of seeing their travelling destination brightening his mood considerably. 

Marco hands over his phone and Mario tucks himself back against his shoulder, ignoring the stupid armrest digging into his side for now. Laucala Island. As in _island_. An island, just for the two of them and maybe ten other people, who would be in their own private sections, secluded from the rest of the world. “I still can’t believe you did this.” 

Marco hums. “How often do you win a World Cup?” 

“What would you have done if we lost?” Mario grins and Marco turns to look at him for the first time, his eyes warm despite the obvious strain from the lack of sleep. 

“Impossible. We had our golden boy.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Mario whispers and Marco smiles at him, the crooked one that’s Mario’s favorite. 

“I’m not wrong though. Besides. If we _had_ lost, we could have licked our wounds on our private island for two weeks. Not the worst way to do it.” 

“I’ll say,” Mario mutters, scrolling through the pictures on the screen. White sandy beaches, palm trees and turquoise waters and a state of the art villa. It’s gorgeous and Mario can’t wait to get there and dip into the ocean, preferably wearing nothing and with Marco in tow. “Could be our honeymoon,” he says without thinking and only realizes about a minute later that Marco hasn’t said anything in return, not even to make some obvious joke or to tease Mario. 

When he glances up Marco’s watching him with something like contemplation on his face, too intent for Mario to simply let it go. “What?” 

Marco licks his lips, hesitates for a moment. “What if it was?” 

“Huh?” In Mario’s defense, he slept very little in the past two days, so he thinks he should be forgiven for not catching on immediately. 

Marco turns to face him fully, his eyes completely serious. “What if this was our honeymoon?” 

Mario’s mouth is suddenly very dry and he has the inexplicable urge to laugh. “Are you asking me to marry you?” 

“I am,” Marco says, his eyes never leaving Mario’s face. “Are you saying yes?” 

Mario thinks of lifting that golden trophy for a second time, less than forty hours ago. The screams of the crowd, the cheering of his team around him, Marco at his side. It doesn’t come close to what he’s feeling now. He nods mutely and Marco’s eyes widen, like he honestly thought there was any possibility of Mario saying no.

It’s insanely stupid and he’ll probably regret it later, but right then Mario can’t stop himself and he grabs the front of Marco’s shirt to pull him in for a kiss, short and almost chaste, glancing around right after to make no one saw them. The Lounge is still deserted and they grin at each other, too happy to care that they probably look like lunatics to anyone who might walk in.

“Please tell me you don’t want a big wedding,” Mario says, hearing how stupidly breathless he sounds and not caring even a little. “Because if you want me to stand in front of fifty people and say stuff like ‘In sickness and in health’ I will definitely laugh and it will be incredibly uncomfortable for everyone involved.” 

Marco snorts, cupping the side of Mario’s face after glancing around one more time. “Fine. Just the two of us. But you’re telling my mother.” 

“Please,” Mario huffs, with bravado he probably wouldn’t feel without the relief coursing through him. “Your mother loves me.” 

“She did before you eloped with her only son.” Marco grins. “Chicken.”

“Shut up,” Mario chuckles, but allows himself to be kissed one more time before pulling back. “And we’re not eloping. We’re not married yet.” 

Marco looks at him for a long moment and Mario knows he’s going to say something insane before he even opens his mouth. “We do have three hours to kill before our plane leaves.” 

Mario boggles at him, because even for Marco’s standards, this is a bit much. “Are you suggesting we drive into town, get married and drive back here, all within three hours?!” 

“Good to know the time issue is the only part you’re objecting to,” Marco says drily, taking his phone out of Mario’s hands. “I’ll check where the nearest register office is. Or did you want a church wedding?” 

“Shut up,” Mario laughs, running a hand through his hair and wondering whether he’ll wake up if he pinches himself. “Are we actually doing this? Can we even make it back here in time? Will they let us back in, we’re already checked…” he trails off, seeing the expression on Marco’s face as he stares at his phone screen. “What?” 

Marco slowly raises his head and there’s a gleam in his eyes that Mario has never seen before, something close to the determination he shows on the pitch. “Did you know Dortmund’s register office has a branch at the airport, Sunny?”

*

The clerk at the register office has probably seen worse than them, at least Mario hopes so. Sure, they’re asking to be married in the t-shirts and shorts they threw on this morning and Marco hasn’t taken off his snapback, while Mario’s last shave was more than a week ago, but still. She’s probably seen worse. At least she’s very professional, telling them to sit and handling the situation with a grace Mario is sure he’d lack in her position. 

There’s an insane amount of paperwork to be filled out and Mario watches Marco stare blankly at the form in front of him for less than a minute before taking it from him, scribbling down the information as quickly as he can before handing it back to Marco for his signature. It takes him almost half an hour and for some of it he has to pull up the files from his phone, mailing their birth certificates and other documents to the email address the clerk supplied. 

Giving her the paperwork with their names makes Mario nervous, though he knows it’s ridiculous. She probably recognized at least Marco as soon as they walked in and in any case, it’s not like anyone here can go to the papers with this information. The records are private and there’s no one in the office but the clerk, no witnesses with smartphones to ruin this for them. 

She smiles at them once she’s sorted through the paperwork, not showing any sign that two of the most recognized people in the country have come into her office asking to be married. “We’ll have to process these and the other documents you sent us. In the meanwhile, do you have any wishes for the ceremony?” 

Mario shoots a quick glance towards Marco, who looks as startled as Mario feels. “Ceremony? We kind of thought this was it.” 

“Oh,” she says, never losing her smile. “Legally nothing else is required, but most couples like to have a small ceremony afterwards. Our chaplain is very professional and he always does a great job. We have a small room through there, with a beautiful view of the airport.” 

“We don’t even have any rings,” Mario starts hesitantly, when Marco touches his arm. 

“I saw a jeweler downstairs.” 

Mario stares at Marco, the warmth blossoming in his chest entirely unexpected. “You want the ceremony?” 

Marco smiles at him, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’re already here. I say we do this all the way or not at all. Give me your ring. They’ll need your size as well.” 

Mario smiles back helplessly as he pulls the ring Marco gifted to him so many years ago from his finger, placing it in his best friend’s palm. “Pick something without gold.” 

“Obviously,” Marco says with a roll of his eyes, taking Mario’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles before getting up. “I’ll be right back.” 

Mario watches him go and when he turns back around the clerk is smiling at him softly, her eyes warm. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” Mario still can’t quite believe this is happening and it doesn’t get better when she escorts him next door, a simple room that looks like it might be used for conferences, but with a spectacular view of the airport as promised. 

“I called the chaplain and he will be right up,” she says before closing the door. “If you need anything else, just call." 

Mario steps to the large window front, watching the planes take off into the clear evening sky, the sun painting the horizon gold and red as far as the eye can see. It’s an amazing sight and Mario is so absorbed in it that he doesn’t even notice someone else has entered the room until there’s a polite cough behind him. 

He turns to see an older man in a suit and stole, with greying hair and kindly eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m Chaplain Mendel,” he says, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Herr Götze. That was some goal you scored.” 

So much for flying under the radar, Mario thinks drily as he takes the offered hand. “Thank you, Chaplain. I got a bit lucky.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Mendel says, a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, do you have any requests for the ceremony?” 

“I don’t think so?” Mario says, wishing he didn’t sound so damn young all of a sudden. “Nothing too long, I guess.”

“I’ll keep it brief,” the chaplain promises. “There’s a lovely verse I like to use as vows, but if the two of you aren’t religious-”

“I am,” Mario says, feeling a bit awkward. He believes in God, always has, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen a church from the inside. Going off book by becoming gay tends to do that. “But if you think it would fit.” 

“It’s very poetic,” Mendel says softly. “I have it right here if you want to take a look.” 

Mario bends over the offered page, reading the words. “Oh,” he manages, swallowing when he imagines saying those words to Marco. “Yes. That will be…yes.” 

The door opens as if on cue, Marco stepping into the room with a flush on his usual pale face, almost like he ran to get here. “Got them. We’ll have to go back later to get them engraved, but-“ he breaks off when he sees the chaplain, who greets Marco with the same easiness he did Mario. Either the clerk warned him, or the man is just unflappable. 

“Would you two like a moment, or shall we begin?” The chaplain asks and Marco gives Mario a questioning look before turning back towards the older man. “We’re ready.” 

“If you would stop over here then, please,” the chaplain says, directing them to face each other while he moves to stand with his back towards the window front. 

Mario doesn’t think his heart has ever beat so loudly as he looks at Marco, the chaplain’s voice fading into the background, everything but his best friend’s face simply falling away around him. Marco looks tired and yet bright-eyed, a slight sunburn across his nose and cheekbones from the long hours they spent standing in front of the fans in the sun yesterday, his cheeks and chin covered in heavy stubble that catches the golden glow from the setting sun. Mario loves him so much it hurts and to his own surprise he doesn’t feel any urge to laugh while they exchange the rings, Marco pressing a kiss to his palm and keeping a hold of his hand after it’s done. 

“Repeat after me,” the chaplain says calmly and Mario grips Marco’s fingers a little tighter, because signatures or not, this is still it. 

There’s a suspicious prick in Mario’s eyes as they finish, silence falling heavily around them, Marco’s hands clinging onto his so tightly his knuckles must be turning white. And when the chaplain pronounces them lawfully wed, Mario doesn’t hesitate to step in and tip his head up, kissing Marco with all he has, something settling in his chest he didn’t know was missing until just now. 

*

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mario groans, putting a hand on Marco’s chest and pulling back to look at him, his lips red and flushed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to have sex with you,” Marco says drily, hands slipping down to grip Mario’s ass. 

“Here?” Mario asks, glancing around the VIP Lounge bathroom.

“The door’s locked,” Marco says, sounding confused. 

Mario rolls his eyes. “I know it is, that’s not my point. You could have me on our luxurious king-sized bed in our seaside villa after we both go swim in the ocean only a few hours from now. Or you can have me here, the first sex of our marriage, in an airport bathroom, when we’ll both have to sit on a six hour flight afterwards. Your choice.” 

Marco tilts his head as he looks at him. “Definitely the bathroom.” 

“Thank God,” Mario says, reaching out to unbuckle Marco’s belt. “There’s a good chance I would have divorced you otherwise, just fyi.” 

Marco lifts him onto the counter, stepping between his legs and kissing Mario until he wraps his arms around Marco’s neck. “Testing me?” 

“Maybe,” Mario gasps, burying his fingers in Marco’s thick hair and pulling him in again. “Marriage changes people.”

“I’ll always want you,” Marco murmurs into the skin of his neck, causing shivers to run down Mario’s back. “You know that, Sunny.” 

“Yeah,” Mario says softly, thinking of the way Marco looked at him when they said their vows. “I guess I do.” 

*

They sort themselves out as best as they can afterwards, Mario tugging on his hair until it resembles something close to neat while Marco gives his up for a lost cause, putting his snapback back on. Just when Marco takes a step towards the door, Mario grabs his elbow, pulling out his phone. “Hang on. There’s something we need to do first.” 

He snaps a selfie of the two of them with Marco’s chin resting on his shoulder and sends it to their families, Ann, Marcel, Robin and André. “Want to do the honors?” 

Marco takes the phone and types out the message. 

_Just got hitched, off to our honeymoon. See you in two weeks._

Mario turns his phone off when Marco hands it back to him, feeling something very close to glee. “They’re going to be so mad.” 

“That’s the nice thing about an island, Sunny,” Marco smirks. “Very bad reception.” 

Mario shakes his head, hooking his finger through the dog tags around Marco’s neck to pull him close for one more kiss, long and lingering. “I knew I married you for a reason.” 

~

**Author's Note:**

> You actually can get married at the airport in Dortmund, though I very much doubt it would actually work that quickly with German bureaucracy being involved. Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated <3


End file.
